


Fifteen

by orphan_account



Category: Star Wars Legends: Thrawn Trilogy - Timothy Zahn
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-24
Updated: 2015-12-24
Packaged: 2018-05-09 01:54:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 686
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5521073
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Thrawn finds out about Pellaeon lying about his age to join the Navy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fifteen

**Author's Note:**

  * For [bluehooloovo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluehooloovo/gifts).



> According to his Wookieepedia page, Pellaeon actually did run away to join the Academy at 15, and Chiss children really do join the military very young. Wookieepedia: the great treasure trove of ship inspiration.

The lights in Thrawn’s command room are up today, but a warmer yellow than the usual shipboard paneling, glowing off a series of holos showing...plants?

“Sir.” Thrawn is sitting back in his chair, relaxed - when did Pellaeon start being able to read the incremental gradients of tension in his shoulders that mark whether he’s relaxed? He pushes the thought aside and steps inside, letting the door swish closed behind him. 

“Moss sculptures.” Thrawn waves his hand at the holos. “They take thousands of years to grow, and the shadows of the outcroppings are as important as anything else. I find they’re best appreciated in their natural light.”

Now that he looks more closely, the holos all appear to show the same patch of moss, presumably at different time points. It’s impressive, but Pellaeon could stare at it all day without generating any brilliant tactical revelations. “I see, sir.”

Thrawn touches a switch: the holos vanish and the lights return to their usual settings. “But you aren’t here to discuss moss statues.” He picks up a datapad. “During a routine check, one of our scans found a discrepancy in your birth date between Corellian and Imperial records.”

Now? After so long, when he’d stopped worrying about it decades ago? Pellaeon’s expression doesn’t change, but he takes a careful breath before he answers. It’s exactly the kind of tiny detail that could be an administrative error or something much more sinister - an indication of an infiltrator somewhere, a spy in the records office. A spy impersonating him. 

He doesn’t even consider trying to lie. “Yes, sir,” he says. “The Corellian record is correct.” He looks straight into Thrawn’s eyes as he says it, refusing to flinch or stare at the ground like a child being scolded.

“And why does your Imperial record place you as three years older?”

“I joined the Academy when I was 15, sir. I lied about my age to be allowed in. I hired a slicer to forge a copy of my birth certificate, and at the time the need for recruits was so great that nobody looked too closely.”

Thrawn’s eyebrows lift. “Your parents never found out?”

“My parents took no particular interest in my career, sir.” An understatement, but if Thrawn needs to know about Pellaeon’s childhood for some strategic reason, he’ll ask directly, and until then Pellaeon will trust him not to pry into this particular private pain. 

Thrawn gives him a long, piercing look, but doesn’t press it. “I have no intention of punishing an indispensable officer for a lie of youthful patriotism decades ago,” he says, finally. “The Chiss enter military service earlier than that and consider it entirely appropriate, although I understand that human development is typically slower.”

“Thank you, sir,” Pellaeon says, for lack of anything else to say. It’s stronger praise than he’s heard from Thrawn since they met. Come to think of it, it’s probably stronger praise than he’d ever expected to hear from Thrawn. 

“You underestimate your abilities, Captain,” Thrawn says mildly. “If none of your previous commanding officers could see it, it was their blindness. But speaking of which.” He taps another button on the chair, and a map emerges from the floor.

“The Hydian Way,” Pellaeon says, seizing his opportunity not to have to formulate some kind of coherent response to the previous part of Thrawn’s statement. 

“Indeed. Last week, I had the  _ Death’s Head  _ move closer to the Crombach Nebula, which contains quite a few important alloy stockpiles in addition to its moss sculptures…”

He relaxes into the familiar rhythm of planning a campaign, mentally noting plans to coordinate and dates to remember. It isn’t until he heads back up to his own office with a datapad full of new problems to solve that he belatedly remembers that Thrawn had apparently entered service even younger than Pellaeon himself. 

  
It’s nothing of any particular strategic importance, and probably nothing he’ll ever hear of again. He tucks it away in his mind anyway, one more tiny piece of information about the commanding officer he can't quite seem to stop being curious about. 


End file.
